


being an account of poe dameron's epic sexual history

by peradi



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blowjobs, Deepthroating, F/M, Fluff, Hero Worship, M/M, Poe Dameron Being a Little Shit, bottom!poe, dubcon, handjobs, im on the train to hell and im okay with this, poe dameron is an ethical slut, precious cinnamon roll finn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-16
Updated: 2016-01-16
Packaged: 2018-05-14 08:59:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5737600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peradi/pseuds/peradi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Otherwise known as: all the people Poe took to his bed, and the one who stayed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	being an account of poe dameron's epic sexual history

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr -- swearydroid.tumblr.com -- so pls follow for more sweary robots and star wars crack. and a lot of kylux. and everyone paired with everyone else because i never discriminate on shipping.

**the hero.**

"God, you're beautiful," says Han and if it were anyone else in the universe Poe would protest -- but it's him, it's Han Solo, it's Han Solo with his hands and his mouth and his  _dick_ and said dick is there  _right there_ in Han Solo's hand and he is  _stroking_ it and it's swelling up, hard and plump and good enough to make Poe  _drool --_

His thoughts have passed straight through incoherency into white static. 

He makes a noise that could be  _let me suck you off_ or could be  _let me lick your boots_  and, to be fair, he would do either. 

Fortunately, Han is in a good mood. He opens his thighs up and, if that invitation wasn't flagrant enough, plants a strong palm on Poe's shoulder and pushes  _down._

Poe half-topples off Han's lap, landing on his knees, his elbows braced on Han's thighs. The cockpit floor is hard and unforgiving against his knees and it'll bruise and that thought sends a thunderbolt of heat right to his cock. 

Poe feels like every blowjob he has ever given has been practice for this moment: the Holy Grail of blowjobs. The biggest test of his young life -- and that includes blowing up Starkiller base, or rescuing the map of Luke Skywalker's hermitage from the foul claws of the First Order. 

No:  _this_ is the most important thing he's ever done. 

He pauses for a moment, licking his lips, trying not to go saucer-eyed. 

Han weaves his fingers into Poe's hair. "C'mon," he urges. "Suck it, don't stare --"

Poe drags his tongue along Han's shaft. He tongues at his balls, and mouths at his slit, and moans like the universe's cheapest whore while he's doing it; he never wants to stop tasting and touching; he never wants to hear anything but Han's low thrumming moans; and he's about to come in his pants just from the press of Han's cock on his tongue. 

"Stop  _teasing_ ," Han snaps, giving Poe's an imperative tug.

Poe obliges, swallowing Han down in one go, his lips crinkling up against Han's pubes and the head of Han's cock nudging into the back of his throat. His gag reflex flutters, useless, and Poe just swallows more down, fighting his body's attempt to expel the intruder. 

Han fucks his throat with deep, lazy pushes, tugging Poe closer to him -- but just as he starts to get close he shoves Poe away -- and Poe almost _cries_ at the loss of contact. 

But then Han's saying "Get up," and Poe knows what that means and he stands, his mouth wet and split open and ruined. His face is reddened -- and Han looks almost as bad, his eyes blown black, his lips hanging slack. "Hands against the console," he says, standing up -- a little unsteadily, Poe notes with absolute pride -- and tugging at Poe's trousers. 

Poe bends over in one slow, sinuous move. Bares himself. Grins sharp and quick over his shoulder, teasing -- "Ready old --"

And the  _man_ is cut off when Han pushes a finger into his mouth. "Get it nice and wet flyboy," he growls. "I don't keep lube on the Falcon."

Poe slurps obscenely at Solo's finger, grinning just as wide, biting down a laugh. "Don't need it," he says, as Solo pulls his hand away. "I'm a big boy."

"So am I," says Solo and it's so juvenile that Poe can't help the laughter sputtering free this time: wild and ringing in the cockpit, and the laughter sharpens into a cry as Han pushes a finger inside him, finds his prostate and  _presses_. 

Everything goes white, and Poe comes all over the Falcon's control panel.

 _Shit_. 

Han doesn't seem to notice. He slides in a second finger, curls and crooks, and Poe's begging, pleading, a constant stream of  _fuck me fuck me_ that grows in volume until he's all but screaming it, and Han coughs laughter into his nape. "Calm down."

"If I don't get your dick in me," says Poe, seriously, "I'm going to die."

Han is a fucking terrible person. He rubs the head of his cock around Poe's rim. "You're gonna die? Maybe I'll just jerk off here, come on your hole --"

Poe arches his back in a greedy shove, a hectic spill of movement that jams the first inch of Han's cock inside him.

"I will  _kill_ you," he vows, low and passionate and sounding about five seconds from the Dark Side. "I will --"

"Well, we can't have that," Han says, sounding annoyingly level. It's not fair. Poe's stretched open, gagging for him, and he's barely out of breath. 

And then Han grabs his hips and plunges  _in_ \-- plunges so deep that Poe tastes him at the back of his throat and it is the best thing in this, or any other, universe and he shoves back again, matching Han's thrusts with his own, and Han's teeth find the meat of his shoulder, bite bruise-dark kisses along him. Han's done with teasing, thank the good fucking Force, and fucks him in earnest: hard and deep and  _so so good_. 

In the white storm haze of pleasure-pain, Poe comes again. 

On the console. 

Han will  _kill_ him when he notices. If he notices. 

"m'close," Han pants, right into Poe's ear. "You've  _ruined_ me kid."

"I know," says Poe with a shit-eating grin, and he shoves back, taking every inch Han can give him; and the smuggler comes deep inside him with a broken, broken groan. He slumps boneless over Poe. 

"We've gotta do that again. You feel so  _good_. You're perfect."

Poe gives his hips a happy little wriggle. 

Han groans. "You're gonna kill me."

"That's the idea," chirrups Poe, stamping a hard kiss to the corner of Han's mouth. 

* * *

  **the general.**

"So, you're taking the lead on my interrogation?"

Hux's boots are inked so brightly that Poe can see his reflection: his lower lip is ripening into a real motherfucker of a bruise; his cheek is purpled; but his eyes are still wide and sharp, and his hair is  _killing it_. 

He flicks his chin, trying to get his fringe to a more flattering angle. It doesn't really work. 

"I mean," says Poe, "not that I don't appreciate it -- you've got a better ass than the last thug you had in knocking me about -- but isn't there something in your repetoire that doesn't involve beating the shit out of me?"

Poe's got his arms bound behind him, his wrists crossed, a position designed to put tension on his upper arms and shoulders. It's working. The pain is low and singing; but soon it will be a cacophony to rival the harmonies of the cracked rib and missing tooth. His ankles are chained together. Hobbled. Grounded. The worst thing in the world for a pilot.

He wants the open sky so much his teeth ache.

Hux hasn't really said much. He ordered the other guy out, dragged a chair over, and now sits before Poe with the entitled, supercilious air of a man who believes himself above the blood and glut of battle.

"Has anyone told you that the whole slicked-back hair thing isn't working for you? You've not got the forehead for it. You look like a jerotok. Do you know what that is? Vicious, pointy fucker. Bit like a rat -- but eight feet long and poisonous."

The man says nothing. He stares down at Poe, unruffled, chin tilted up a fraction too high, shoulders so straight that he could be mistaken for a droid at a distance. He's looking at Poe without moving his head an inch, which means he is quite literally looking down his  _very prominent_ nose at him. 

It's getting under Poe's skin. He tells himself that this is just what General Twatface is going for, and swallows down his annoyance.

"You going to just sit there? Wait for me to get bored and tell you about the Resistance to get away from you? I mean, I might just to that. Do you sit like that because of the stick up your ass, or because Daddy beat you when you slumped your shoulders?"

Not a twinge of movement. 

Then, "I am waiting the arrival of the Knights of Ren. Do you know who they are?"

Fear sinks dark claws into his stomach; but Poe's face is flat, unreadable. His smirk doesn't waver a moment. "Yes. Gimp masks and knock off Vader outfits."

"Something like that," says Hux.

Silence aches between them. Hux doesn't fucking  _move_. He just  _sits_ there. 

The itch under Poe's skin builds to a frenzy. He  _hates_ this man with a bitter, deathless intensity that shocks him. 

It's the bland, clean way he looks dead ahead. It's the way he acts like he's above it all. 

"Have you ever killed anyone? Really killed them?" Poe says. "Blood up your arm, knife in their guts, watching the light fade from their eyes?" 

"I have soldiers to do that for me."

"So you haven't killed anyone. Have you ever even fucked anyone, or do you just have a droid's crotchpiece under that coat?"

Hux flinches that time. "Are you using vulgarity to mask your fear?"

"Are you a virgin?"

"No."

It's honesty. And it wasn't meant to be; Hux's lips seal up after the word pops out and Poe's smile grows wider. 

It's madness, but he's never been anything but mad. 

He presses his nose against the sharp jut of Hux's knee. Hux jumps -- actually jumps -- a hot flare of pink rising on his sunless skin. "What are you doing?"

"Can a man have one last request?"

"No! And --  _what are you doing_ \--" because Poe is trailing his tongue over the fabric of Hux's absurd trousers, shaping slow deliberate patterns. 

"Doesn't it get you hard? A prisoner, at your feet, utterly at your mercy -- you could do  _anything_ to me -- you could make me lick your boots clean, suck you off -- you could fuck my throat raw and I would just have to sit here and  _take it_."

Hux lurches to his feet. Poe barks out high, unhinged laughter and cranes his neck back. "So, uh, take it that's a no? Pity --" and his voice trails off because Hux is not, as Poe thought he would, leaving in disgust but fiddling with his belt (his hands are  _shaking_ ) and freeing his cock and uh. 

Oh. 

Well. 

Poe's always been told his mouth is going to get him in trouble. 

Hux's smile slants cruel and fast. "Open up, rebel scum," he says, his voice a low and hungry purr. 

"I could bite it off," says Poe, still half-grinning. 

"Yes. And I could have your cock cut off. Open up."

Poe  _laughs_ \-- and obliges.

The General's not going on his 'Top Five Fucks' list -- but he's not in the bottom five either. He fucks Poe's throat with hard, ruthless thrusts; utterly efficient in the way he takes his pleasure, coming without much fanfare, straight down the back of Poe's throat. "Swallow it all," gasps Hux. "Don't want any awkward questions."

"Won't the Lords of Ren see it? If they read my mind then..."

"They'll see this, yes. That's sort of the _point_. Right, your turn."

Hux brings him off with an embarrassingly fast handjob; Poe's skin is fever-hot, clenching down around him; the air is too close and too warm, and Hux's hair seems to run down his face like blood. 

When he comes, tears fracture his vision. He swings back into reality to see Hux -- still perfectly coiffed  _fuck him_ \-- lapping Poe's come off his leather gloves. 

"That was enjoyable," says the General. "And I do believe that our mutual friend is here. I doubt that his interrogation will be as  _fun_ for you."

He kisses Poe's temple before he leaves. 

Everything is very dark, and very quiet, in his absence. 

* * *

 

 

**the scavenger.**

"I've never had sex," says Rey, without any preamble. "Can I have sex with you? I want to know what it's like."

It's not the first time Poe's had such a request. He blinks a couple of times, takes a sip of his canteen to buy a little time. "What about Finn?"

"Finn's with Jessika," Rey points out. "He doesn't actually like me anymore. Keep up, Dameron."

Poe isn't making a habit of following the romantic entanglements of his squadmates. They are confusing and continuous and laden with drama, and he doesn't understand why people get so  _crazy_ over affairs of the heart. 

You like someone? Fine. Have sex with them. Why is that so hard?

 _Rey_ at least seems to be reading from his page. She stands tall and attentive, her gaze clean and assessing, cataloging him in the same way she catalogues everything Skywalker teaches her. 

Poe feels  _naked_ under that gaze.

"Alright," he says. "Tonight?"

"I was kind of hoping now," she says, eyeing the curve of the sun against the treeline, "I've got training tonight."

"That works too," says Poe, and grabs her hand. 

 

\--

 

He eats her out before he fucks her, trailing the Standard alphabet on her folds, teasing at her clit, using his fingers to work her open and ready for him. 

By the time he gets inside her, she's incoherent with pleasure. Things fly about the room and smash. The bed levitates, and when she comes Poe sees himself, his face above hers; he feels like there's someone buried deep inside him.

"What the fuck was that?" he says, when they've separated into a sweaty, sex-reeking huddle. 

"Jedi mind-things. Sorry." She buries her face in the curve of his shoulder. He pats her hair.

"Nah, it was good. Turns out I like getting fucked by me."

* * *

 

 

**the pilots.**

Some things are wonderfully uncomplicated. 

 

\--

 

"Finn dumped me," Jessika says. "Can we have rebound sex?"

"Sounds good to me."

 

\--

 

"I'm bored," says Snap.

"Wanna fuck?"

"Yeah, why not."

 

\--

 

"Hey Connix, can we get it on?"

"Yup. Meet me in my dorm in five."

 

* * *

 

 

**the one who stayed.**

"I've, uh," says Finn. "I've never had sex before. And I -- uh -- I know that you have, that you have had it a  _lot_. And...and I don't want to disappoint you."

"You could  _never_ disappoint me," says Poe, low and urgent. "I love you --"

"It's just, uh. Han Solo?"

"Well, yes. It was fun. It was  _fantastic_ fun -- but he's not you. No one will ever be you."

He leans in and kisses him and it is  _everything_ he never knew he wanted in a kiss. It's sloppy and inelegant, and Finn uses far too much tongue, and Poe opens up for him. It's a tooth-clacking mess of a kiss and Poe never wants it to end. 

Finn's hands find his belt. 

Okay, maybe  _this_ is worth a break in the kiss. 

"I spoke to Jessika," says Finn, and Poe's really having trouble focusing on what he's saying: Finn's deliciously callused palm is on his shaft and he's jerking him off with unsure little tugs that send white-hot bolts of pleasure sparking behind Poe's eyes. "And she said that you like to be on top -- that you like, uh, anal and --"

"I like everything. I like you --"

"Good, because I don't think I'm ready for --"

"Hey. Shh," Poe kisses the desperate, tumbling words from Finn's mouth. He curls his fingers around Finn's loose fist and shows his lover exactly how to touch him, how to bring him off. "I want to fuck you. I want to get you open and begging for me, I want to eat you out until you scream, I want to finger you open until you're crying my name --" and Finn's breath hitches; Poe scrambles around with the front of his trousers, frees his cock, starts tugging him off, "--I want to come in you and on you, I want you to come on my face and I want to -- I want to  _fuck you_ but --"

Finn comes with a low, punched-out groan. Poe follows shortly after. Golden, sugary bliss turning his bones to syrup. He's never felt quite so  _complete_. 

"I love you. And we'll take it as slow as you like."

Finn pushes his head under Poe's chin. He's insistent on being the little spoon and Poe is fine with this: partly because he understands that a touch-starved former child-soldier needs all the hugs he can get; and partly because Finn's got a great ass to rub his morning wood against. 

"Love you too," huffs Finn, and together they slide into sleep. 

 

 


End file.
